


who am i to ask for more?

by thephanlock



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Based on a Phoebe Bridgers song, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Jealous Ryan Bergara, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephanlock/pseuds/thephanlock
Summary: He’s alone in these feelings, he knows deep down in his gut that he is, and he hates himself for even considering otherwise.But the way Shane looks at him, soft around the edges, the alcohol making his expression as readable as an open book for the first time. The way he laughs at every one of Ryan’s little observations, even when they’re not funny. The way he holds Ryan close, like he can’t quite bear to let him out of reach for more than a second.It’s enough to have him fooled.(Based on ‘Waiting Room’ by Phoebe Bridgers).
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	who am i to ask for more?

**Author's Note:**

> another one that was supposed to be 1,000 and span out of control, only to sit in my documents for months lol. hope you like it <3
> 
> song is 'waiting room' by phoebe bridgers.

_ If you were a teacher, I would fail your class, _

_ Take it over and over til you noticed me. _

Pulling a suitcase behind him, the last bag he packed, Ryan walks into the student apartment he’d be spending the next few years of his life in. 

If he was being honest, he’d expected the dorm to be smaller, he’d heard the horror stories of students before him, how there were countless beds in one room, how they were pressed against the wall with a walkway between them only just big enough to squeeze through.

But there’s one bed against the wall, sat beside a desk and enough room for Ryan to pace in a circle at night when he gets too stressed about his assignments. It’s not lost on him just how lucky he is that he doesn’t have to share a bedroom, like most students in the US.

Now that he’s here, he knows that all his worrying was pointless. He would be fine spending his days inside these walls. It’s a blank canvas that he could do whatever he liked with, the walls painted a clinical shade of white and the bed bare, begging Ryan to customise it however he liked.

He’d just placed the suitcase beside the bed and headed out of the room, closing the door behind him, when he almost walks straight into one of his flatmates.

“Oh shit, sorry,” He says with a chuckle that sounded more like a heavy exhale. There’s a gentle smile on his lips as he looks down at Ryan and suddenly, Ryan wasn’t nervous about meeting his flatmates anymore. “Shane.” He said, hand extended for Ryan to shake.

“Ryan,” Ryan replies as he shakes Shane’s hand. He smiles back at him, a beat of silence passing between them that, somehow, doesn’t feel awkward. “What’s your major?”

They get to talking and quickly realise they were both in many of the same classes. They’re both film majors, Shane’s focus being editing, whilst Ryan’s focus was cinematography. 

Almost straight away, it’s easy. They fall into a rhythm, chatting back and forth for hours in Shane’s room, as he unpacks his clothes into his closet. It feels like they’re picking up where they’d left off, like two friends separated for years but things somehow being exactly the same when they met up again. 

The only difference was they’d been nothing more than strangers before.

“I’m thinking pizza, you in?” Shane asks, pointing two finger guns at Ryan. With a nod, Ryan follows him into the lounge area, his head full of useless facts about Shane’s favourite film and his family back home. 

* * *

The classes are just as hard as he thought he would be. If not harder.

It’s not that they’re boring, in fact they’re some of the most interesting classes Ryan’s taken. He loves analysing a scene from a film, pouring over every detail like why one shot was chosen over another, why the character’s shirt is torn on the collar at the end of the film when it was pristine at the start. 

There’s nothing he finds more interesting.

But it feels like his head is about to fall off of his shoulders.

There’s so much information, so much stuff that he didn’t know that he didn’t know. And there’s so many assignments already, it feels like they’ve just started and the papers are piling up. 

Not to mention, each class feels like it’s playing out on double speed. Before he’s even had chance to process the last theory the professor explained, they’re already onto the next topic. 

Ryan’s certain, come finals time, he’ll look back on his notes and see nothing but half-finished sentences and confused squiggles.

But he finds solace in the library and study zones, keeping his head in his books for as long as he can to try and catch up. After his second week, Ryan’s certain he could name every book on the shelf beside his usual seat. 

That is, until the parties start. That’s when all hell breaks loose. 

Ryan’s always loved parties, but college parties are a different breed. The Facebook event invites come through so quickly that he loses track.

It feels like there’s a party going on every night somewhere, even if their apartment is far enough away that the dull thudding of the music can’t be heard. There’s girls carrying their heels, makeup down their cheeks and boys throwing up in bushes, slurring so much that no one can understand them. 

Ryan can’t help but notice how different it is from the movies. 

Sure, there’s similarities. The red solo cups, the endless drinking games, the strangers making out in corners, the chugging every alcohol they could get their hands on. 

But it’s around the month mark that he feels settled, like he’s meant to be there, at college. 

“You coming tonight?” Shane asks with a smile, on a random Wednesday night, getting ready for a party as if it’s not the middle of the week. 

“Sure,” Ryan says, even though he’d had no intention of going, not really. 

And so, they start going to these parties together, falling into an easy routine. But Ryan’s not complaining, the nerves and jitters of meeting new people seem to vanish when there’s a familiar face beside him. 

It’s easy to become attached at the hip, for Ryan to spend almost every waking second with Shane. They talk about their assignments and about the people in their classes, but somehow never run out of things to talk about. 

He loves the parties. 

But he doesn’t love the hangovers that come with them. 

* * *

The day after, when Ryan gets back to the dorm, all his classes finally done and headache finally subsiding, the door’s slightly ajar, left off the latch. He nudges it open with his foot, squeezing through the opening before it closes again and has the chance to slam shut in his face.

“Ryan?” He hears Shane call from somewhere in the apartment, as he starts to put away the shopping. 

“Yeah!” Ryan yells in response, neighbours be damned. He can feel the tiredness weighing down on him, making his shoulders slump, a result of a day full of classes and not enough sleep. It hits him all at once. Now that he’s at home and allowed to relax, all his body wants is to sleep.

“Hey,” Shane says, sliding around the corner, socks skidding a little on laminate flooring. “How was class?” He asks and it looks like he genuinely wants to know. Shane reaches over and helps to unpack the shopping, putting away the milk. 

“Tiring,” Ryan says and it dawns on him that he’s never had something like this. 

He’s never had a place to call his own, a place that wasn’t his parents’, a place where he didn’t grow up but still feels at home. It’s the little things that catch him off guard every now and then, like knowing which cupboard is for the cups and which drawer is for the cutlery. 

He’s never had a friend there when he came home, wanting to know how his day was. A roommate he could watch films with, who wouldn’t look at him weird when he started talking about it afterwards, but would join in instead.

Ryan’s not used to it.

It’s weird. But good.

“I can’t believe you managed to get out of that class, Shane.” Is all he says.

“Timetable clashes, baby! Told you you should’ve gone with editing.” Shane quips, nudging his shoulder into Ryan as he walks past to grab a bowl for the popcorn.

“No way, After Effects is the devil.” Ryan says with a shake of his head. As Shane pours the bag of popcorn into a bowl, Ryan sneaks a kernel from the top of the pile. “Meh, tomorrow will be better.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good, got the first rough edit finished for that project,” Shane says, sounding nonchalant, as though he hasn’t been pouring over that edit for weeks, working himself to the bone. 

“That’s  _ huge,  _ Shane.” Ryan says, grinning wide and his expression, so open and so proud, makes Shane look down, a shade of pink colouring his cheeks. He picks up the bowl of popcorn and heads to the couch, Netflix already waiting on the screen.

“Yeah, I thought I was never gonna finish it,” Shane laughs and hands Ryan the remote control. “Your turn.”

Ryan decides on some action film he’s seen too many times, knowing Shane hasn’t seen it and knowing he’ll probably be asleep within half an hour. The titles roll across the screen, as Ryan pulls a blanket from beside the sofa and throws it over them, the shitty dorm room heating no match for the late night chill. 

* * *

Sometime just before Thanksgiving, Shane orders their coffees for them, remembering both their orders perfectly and Ryan’s heart does a cartwheel, stuttering in his chest. 

He spends the next week convincing himself that he’d just had too much caffeine that day.

His phone buzzes with a text from Shane, as he strolls around campus.

_ can you pick up some more popcorn on the way home pls _

Ryan ignores the way his eyes linger on the word  _ home,  _ ignores the warmth blooming in his chest at nothing more than a single text from Shane, and heads to the grocery store. 

_ Home. Home. Home. _

Only on his way back, shopping bags in hand, does he realise that he didn’t even need to ask what Shane’s favourite popcorn was.

  
  


_ If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor, _

_ I would sit there with my first aid kit and bleed. _

Christmas sneaks up on them, their heads so far into textbooks that they don’t seem to notice the decorations going up around campus. It’s the first Christmas at college and sometime in the second week of December, they decide they should probably get a tree.

“Knew we should’ve bought that ladder.” Shane teases, watching as Ryan stands on his tiptoes, trying to reach the top of the tree so he can put the star on top.

“Not everyone can be the same height as a sasquatch,” Ryan quips and tries to ignore the way his heart swells when it elicits a chuckle from Shane.

“And not everyone can reach the top of a Christmas tree and that’s okay,” Shane shoots back, feigning pity, like this is an insecurity of Ryan’s and he’s trying to comfort him.

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan says, a laugh latching onto the end of his words, as he nearly knocks the tree over. “You gonna help, big guy? Or just stand there looking pretty?” 

“Nah, I’m good.” Shane says, even though he’s making his way over to Ryan, a chair in his hands. “Here,” He says, as he places the chair beside him.

“Thanks,” Ryan steps onto the chair, Shane’s hand holding on the back of it to hold it steady. “There.”

“Perfect,” Shane says, stepping back to admire their handiwork. There’s a moment of silence, as they both just look at the tree. “Hey, if this film thing doesn’t work out, we might have a career in Christmas tree decorating.”

And if Ryan can’t stop his lips from transforming into a grin when Shane looks across at him, smiling wide? Well, nobody ever has to know.

* * *

They’re sitting in the coffee shop, laptop on the table in front of them, when Ryan feels something that he can only describe as time stopping for the first time.

It’s the countdown to Christmas and they’re both scurrying to get all their assignments finished in time, months of procrastination setting them up for failure. 

Shane’s leaning across him, talking him through how to use a specific feature on After Effects but the words go through one ear and out the other, because Ryan can’t find the will to focus. Their sides are flush against one another and Ryan’s certain he could pick out every point where they touch. 

He knows there’ll be invisible markings on his skin, that he’ll feel the warmth under his skin for hours after, like cattle branded with a metal rod.

“Make sense?” Shane says, turning to him with a kind smile and Ryan feels everything around him change pace, like they’re in slow motion, every second dragging its feet and feeling more like a minute. 

Ryan’s breath catches in his throat, like the air in his lungs has been choked out of him. It feels like he’s looking at Shane for the first time, really seeing him. He memorises the colour of his eyes, watches as Shane quirks an eyebrow, his expression turning confused.

“Ry?” Shane says and the nickname makes the bottom fall out of Ryan’s stomach, like he’s on a rollercoaster that’s just started its descent.

“Yep!” Ryan replies but the word sounds harsher than he meant it to, loud even to his own ears. He takes a breath and smiles at Shane, who somehow looks even more confused than before. “Yeah, I get it, thank you.”

“No worries,” Shane says, his voice hushed as a small smile plays on his lips. “I’m gonna get another coffee, you want one?” 

“No thanks,” Ryan answers, deciding that he’s had enough caffeine for today, feeling a little too wired and on edge. That was weird _. New _ and  _ weird _ .

He watches Shane leave and tries to snap himself out of whatever the hell that was _.  _

* * *

When the last week of term rolls around, Ryan realises just how unprepared he is for Christmas break. He hasn’t packed his bags into his car, hasn’t wrapped the gifts he bought for his family, he hasn’t even packed his clothes.

But at least he remembered to buy gifts this year.

He’s supposed to be leaving in a few hours. He’d told his family he’d be there before they went to bed but instead of packing, he sits on the edge of his bed, overthinking.

How long has he been feeling like this? Is this friendship? Is it something more? Does Shane know? Oh God, has he been really obvious this entire time?

Ryan pours through every interaction he can remember since they’ve met, searching for signs of Shane’s discomfort or any indication that Shane was trying to let him down slowly. Right now, Ryan could care less that this is most likely unrequited, he’s far more occupied with making sure he never hurt Shane or made him uncomfortable. 

The mere possibility of it makes his stomach churn.

Has he always felt this way without knowing? How long has he been unable to guard himself, to put on an act so that Shane would never know? 

It feels so sudden, so out of the blue and he can feel himself escalating the situation into something it’s not. 

Then, as though his brain is fueled by his own misery, Ryan finally realises that this is probably one-sided.

It’s not a realisation, really. More like something being brought to his attention, something that he kinda realised the moment he figured out his own feelings, but had been trying to avoid. And it  _ hurts _ .

He can’t stop the thoughts from grabbing him, forcing their way into his line of sight like a needy toddler with separation anxiety.

And once they’ve got his attention, he’s lost. Ryan can’t pull himself out of that hole no matter how he tries, he can’t distract himself like he used to.

_ This is just some stupid crush.  _ He thinks, convincing himself that this is a result of spending too much time together and Ryan being single and lonely. It’ll pass, it’s nothing to worry about.

“You okay, Ry?” Shane says, leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows furrowed. Ryan’s not sure when he got there or for how long he’s been standing there, just watching. Now that he’s thinking about it, Ryan’s not sure how long he’s been sitting on this bed, lost in his own thoughts.

“Yeah, just tired, all those essays have fried my brain,” Ryan says and it’s too easy to pull his lips into a small smile, too easy to put on an act and pretend. “Tryna work up the motivation to pack.”

“Need any help?” Shane says. 

It feels like Shane sees right through him, just like he always has, past all the bullshit and false pretenses. It feels like they’ve known each other for longer than they have and Ryan will never understand why this person, who he’s only known for a few months, feels like he’s been a part of his life forever.

It’s too much.

“I think I’m good,” Ryan says, deciding to pick up a pile of nearby clothes and jam into a backpack and call it a day. “All done.” He says and Shane chuckles.

“You’re way too organised, Ryan. Marie Kondo, eat your heart out!” Shane laughs and the noise echoes down the hallway as he walks back to the sofa.

_ It’s nothing,  _ Ryan thinks.  _ You’re overreacting, it’ll pass. You just need more friends.  _

So, without thinking, Ryan sends a Facebook message to a guy called Steven, who’s in a few of his classes and has a kind smile. Steven suggests tagging along with him and a few friends, when they go out for a few drinks one night. 

He knows it’ll be good for him to get to know other people on his course, to get out of the flat and talk to people other than Shane. 

_ Karaoke tomorrow,  _ he says,  _ Nothing serious, just goofing around.  _

And Ryan accepts.

* * *

“Ryan! Glad you could make it!” Steven says, as Ryan makes his way over to the table of somewhat familiar faces, ones he knows he’s seen before but can’t put a name to. 

“Hi,” Ryan says, as he pulls up a chair from another table.

“This is Curly, Jo, Lara and Kelsey.” Steven gestures to each person around the table and Ryan’s grateful for the introductions, that he didn’t just assume Ryan knew who they were because they shared classes. 

“Nice shirt,” Kelsey says. And Ryan’s careful not to mention that he spent about fifteen minutes picking out which shirt would be best for the occasion. 

“Thanks,” Ryan shoots her a smile, which she returns and suddenly, Ryan’s no longer quite so terrified. 

“So, what’s everyone’s song of choice?” Curly asks, before taking a sip of his drink, making it sound like each karaoke song is a weapon of destruction. 

Ryan thinks he’s not too far off, as he squirms in his seat, nervous energy flowing through him. For some reason, he’s never really ‘got’ karaoke. Maybe he’s not given it enough of a try, maybe he wasn’t drunk enough when he tried it last.

There’s a faint hum of conversation that feels a little too far away for Ryan to make out what they’re saying. It’s then that he realises he’s completely zoned out.

“Come on, Ryan, group song first!” Steven says, snapping him back into the moment and bouncing in place as he waits for Ryan to catch up. 

And before he’s even sure what’s going on, he’s being handed a microphone and the opening notes of  _ I Wanna Dance With Somebody _ by Whitney Houston boom out of the speakers.

_ I want to be the power ballad that lifts you up and hold you down _

_ I want to be the broken love song that feeds your misery _

  
  


Ryan hadn’t expected to miss college as much as he did during Christmas break.

He  _ loved  _ his family and there was no better feeling than pulling up and parking beside his home, as though he’d never left. The giddiness that struck him when his mother answered the door, rushing forward to hug him and almost knocking the bags out of his hands. His brother pretending not to be happy to see him, but letting Ryan choose what they watched on the TV that night. A comfort that he could find nowhere else.

But then, he started to notice things were different. Little things, like someone had swapped the sofas around, moved a few inches out of the place Ryan knew them to be. The dining room had been painted, now a different shade than when he’d left. Tiny, miniscule details that Ryan wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking so closely.

It was strange, like he’d been gone for no time at all and years all at once.

For the first few days, he loved it, relishing in every second of being home and the familiarity that came with it. It was so easy to get swept up in the festivities and traditions that the holiday season brought along.

But by that weird week between Christmas and New Years came around, Ryan found himself waking up in the morning and going to the kitchen, expecting to see Shane standing there making breakfast or on the couch with a cup of coffee. He ignored the way his chest felt a little heavier when Shane wasn’t stood beside him, cracking jokes and doing stupid bits.

He didn’t miss Shane. He missed  _ college _ . That was it. He missed living away from his family and having someone his own age who understood him around all the time. He missed the independence of it all. That was it. Of course it was.

There'd been radio silence between them since the start of Christmas break.

Until New Years Eve.

_ happy new year ry! _

The text, followed by an obscene amount of emojis, comes through just after midnight, as Ryan’s hugging his family and ringing in the new year. He feels the corners of his lips turning upward as he looks down at his phone, smiling no matter how hard he tries to fend it off.

_ Happy new year shane :) is that an emoji for every shot you’ve taken? _

His finger touches the send button, barely a few seconds passing before the reply comes through.

_ coyrse not, i drink responsibbiliy _

Ryan tries not to laugh, biting down on a smile to keep the noise inside. 

_ Your spelling says different big guy _

_ yoyr mom says differtent _

_ What does that even mean?  _ Ryan thinks, a little chuckle escaping his lips as he sits alone on the sofa, staring down at his phone.

_ Sure she does. Drink some water _

_ waters fir fish baby i am a hyuman  _

_ Just drink some water, u idiot _

_ ok g2g miss u _

Ryan doesn’t even hesitate sending his reply.

_ Miss u too _

* * *

When Ryan gets back to the dorm, it’s exactly the way he left it. The mess he’d made haphazardly packing his things still litters his bedroom floor and the refrigerated food they’d forgotten to get rid of before they left is starting to stink. 

It feels like falling back into step, hitting the ground running again, as though life had been paused and the play button has been pressed. 

“Ryan?” Shane says, the noise drifting from somewhere in the apartment, as Ryan pulls a suitcase over the border of the front door. He barely has a chance to respond before two arms are enveloping him into a hug, pulling him tight against Shane’s chest.

“Hey, big guy.” Ryan says and the words come out on an exhale, like they’ve been punched out of him. Almost on reflex, his arms come up to hug Shane back and there’s a pause, a beat where they both just stand there. 

It occurs to Ryan how strange this is for them. He doesn’t think they’ve hugged before, in fact, he can’t recall a time he’s ever seen Shane show any emotion like this, he’s used to him cracking jokes and straight up  _ refusing _ to be serious.

“Just a heads-up, it smells like something died in the kitchen.” Shane says when they pull apart. “Hey, maybe you can finally get some evidence that ghosts exist!” He jokes.

Ryan had mentioned a few times how he one-hundred percent, without a doubt believed that ghosts were real. He wasn’t all that surprised when Shane called bullshit. He knew that someone like Shane, who believed in nothing but science and, somehow, aliens, would never agree.

It doesn’t stop him from teasing Ryan about it whenever he gets the chance.

“Shane, don’t tease the food ghosts.” Ryan shoots back, feigning terror.

“Or what? I’m not scared of some mouldy cheese and expired chicken. What’s it gonna do?” Shane says.

“Give you food poisoning. Maybe some salmonella.” Ryan deadpans and when Shane laughs, that familiar warmth begins to blossom in his chest, until it’s right underneath his skin, ready to burst. 

For the first time, he wonders whether it’s possible for someone to have two places they call home, whether it’s possible for home to be a person instead of just a place.

* * *

The weeks pass in a blur of seemingly endless lectures and piles of assignments, the autumn leaves falling to the ground and growing back green before Ryan even notices. They’ve fallen into an easy routine, watching movies together at night and going to the same coffee shop in the day time to study. 

The next few months manage to pass quicker than the first but the stress doubles down too, hitting harder than before. It’s March when it finally becomes too much.

“I can’t do this,” Ryan says, ruffling his hair with his fingers and leaving it an unruly nest. 

They have an essay due in a few hours, an analysis of the cinematography of a specific scene, which is normally Ryan’s forte. But tonight, he can feel the pressure getting to him, pushing him down and suffocating him. 

As soon as he lets himself think about the essay, his thoughts spiral, reminding him that they have five other projects due and that's just this week. It feels like the air is being squeezed out of him. 

“You can,” Shane says and Ryan can tell he’s trying to decipher whether this is a moment where jokes are inappropriate. He seems to decide that it isn’t. “Come on, we can do it together.”

They talk through the assignment and plan out their essays until Ryan’s thoughts feel less foggy and he can sort through them. 

“The dream team did it again,” Shane jokes, putting out his fist for Ryan to bump. 

He’s taken to teasing Ryan for being a “frat boy” or a “bro” recently, even though he’s not part of any frats and the only thing linking him to a “bro” is his love for muscle tees. 

“Good job, dude! Killin’ it, bro! Rad!” Shane taunts and Ryan still bumps fists with him, even if he’s rolling his eyes. 

“I don’t sound like that.” Ryan says, shaking his head with a fond smile on his face, as he packs away his laptop into its case. 

* * *

Ryan goes out with Steven and his friends a few more times. 

He’d never really taken to karaoke before but Curly says he’s a pro.

* * *

A switch flips after that, as the spring crosses into summer, and Ryan’s not sure why. The feelings seem to fade in intensity or at least pull back a little, their grip on Ryan slackening as they become less prevalent in his mind. It’s like he’s feeling them become a distant memory, watching the picture start to blur and vignette around the edges. 

He thinks he was right, that this was just a weird infatuation, a little fascination with a friend and he wasn’t able to differentiate between platonic and romantic feelings. That’s it, he just found Shane interesting and wanted to be his friend. He’s sure of it. 

So much so that he gets a girlfriend. She’s pretty and nice and she likes basketball and she cooks paella and she majors in literature and she burns every batch of cookies she tries to bake and she lets Ryan hold her hand while they watch the Lakers games. 

They’re still new and it’s too early to call anything, but Ryan has a good feeling.

He’s starting to look at Shane as a friend again and now, Ryan’s heart only does one flip instead of six when he looks at him. So, it’s progress. Even if it’s slow.

And maybe he still laughs at Shane’s stupid bits, but that’s just because they’re funny. And maybe he still knows Shane’s favourite popcorn and his coffee order and his pizza of choice, but that’s just because he’s a good friend.

“She seems nice,” Shane says one day after Ryan’s girlfriend has left, and he looks like he’s being genuine. For some reason, it’s important to Ryan that Shane likes her, though he doesn’t know why. “Finally someone who can understand your basketball talk!” 

Ryan’s hit with the memory of watching his first Lakers game with Shane, the memory flooding into his thoughts like a tsunami. He remembers how Shane had looked so confused but still enthusiastic, wanting to understand why Ryan loved it so much. How he’d shouted ‘go team!’ when the other team had scored, thinking they were the ones Ryan was rooting for.

He thinks back to today. To watching the game with his girlfriend, both of them as amped up as each other, both knowing exactly where to look to follow the game, both spouting terminology and knowing which player is which. He thinks back to jumping on the couch together when the Lakers won, like two children.

He thinks back to kissing her goodbye and how soft her cheek was under his palm, how his heart lifted when their lips met, how easy it was to pull her close.

He’s got a good feeling.

“Ha, yeah. You hungry?” Ryan says, more to fill the silence than anything else. 

Despite it all, something still feels off kilter between him and Shane, like they’re both moving but they’re no longer on the same axis, like they were swimming in the same direction and have been swept up into different currents. 

So close and suddenly pulled apart, like they’re standing right beside one another, close enough to touch but it somehow feels like Shane’s so far away, further away than ever before.

This is exactly what Ryan had wanted to avoid. It felt like he’d done everything right. He thought he’d avoided the awkward and the growing apart and yet, here they are.

“I’m all good, I gotta go meet for the group project thing anyway, so I’ll catch you later?” Shane says with a small smile and immediately, Ryan knows it’s a lie. He knows what Shane looks like when he’s lying, how his eyebrow twitches, how his lips get a little thinner. 

But he lets it slide.

“Oh, cool. See you later.” He says, trying not to let the disappointment seep into his words but it doesn’t matter because Shane’s already leaving. As the door closes behind him, Ryan’s left standing there, wondering what he could’ve done better and where it was he went wrong.

_ And I can wish all that I want, but it won’t bring us together _

_ Plus, I know whatever happens to me, I know it’s for the better _

It’s gradual, so gradual that Ryan doesn’t even realise it’s happening until it’s too late but slowly, Shane’s life untangles itself from his own. Not entirely, but enough that Ryan can feel the space he leaves behind.

Ryan and his girlfriend have been together for two months by the time there’s no more study dates at the coffee shop and there’s no more movie nights. Their last movie night together had been silent at best, awkward at worst, and Ryan is almost positive that Shane’s avoiding him. 

Their paths no longer cross in the hallways of their apartment, there’s no curious smiles leaning around the doorway to his bedroom asking him what he’s up to. It feels like Shane is sneaking around, ducking in and out of the flat before Ryan wakes up. 

The only time they see each other is in the classes they share, sitting beside one another. They  _ do  _ talk but it’s only small talk, and Ryan’s too scared to broach the topic of what the  _ hell _ is going on. 

There’s no one he can talk to about it either. Ryan doesn’t dare tell his girlfriend what’s going on, deciding not to confide in her because what if his past feelings are obvious? What if she sees straight through to the root of the problem? What if?

The only person he wants to talk to about it is Shane. 

“ _ So _ , are you and Shane not talking?” Steven says, after class one particularly-awkward Wednesday. They’ve only just been dismissed and already, Shane’s disappeared, moving so fast that Ryan sees nothing but a blur and the gust of wind in his wake.

Ryan must’ve left it a little too long before answering because suddenly, Steven’s stuttering and apologising for overstepping.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Ryan says with a smile, immediately feeling bad. “No, we’re not. I don’t know why.” He says and he doesn’t realise how true the words are until he speaks them.

“Ryan,” Steven says, eyebrows raised as though it’s obvious. But still, when Ryan tries to put all the puzzle pieces together, it still feels like one is missing, like he can’t quite figure it out. Steven smiles that kind smile that Ryan’s come to know him by. “Just talk to him.”

So, around two weeks into this little charade, Ryan decides to suck it up and corner Shane after class. It’s the only time he knows for sure they’ll bump into each other and there’ll be no excuses, since they both know each other’s timetable like the back of their own hand. 

“Shane,” Ryan says, jogging a little to catch up to Shane as he leaves class. “Can we talk?” 

Shane nods, wearing a polite smile as he follows Ryan to the edge of the hallway. To anyone else, Shane would appear calm, unaffected even, but Ryan just sees the walls Shane’s built up, guarding himself and closing himself off.

“What’s up?” Shane says, choosing to play dumb and it takes Ryan by surprise for a moment. The thought crosses his mind that maybe he’s imagining all this, maybe he’s overthinking it. 

But then, he remembers that they haven’t tried (and failed) to cook dinner together, inevitably ordering takeout anyway, in over a fortnight. 

“What’s going on, Shane?” Ryan says and the words come out angrier than he meant them to, on the verge of raising his voice. He hadn’t realised he was even angry about it until right this second. 

“What do you mean?” Shane replies. It’s odd, Ryan never would’ve pinned him as the type to play games, but maybe it’s the confrontation, preferring to be clueless than fight. Either way, he’s certain there’s no way Shane’s  _ that _ oblivious. 

“You know what I mean.” Ryan says and as he says it, he can feel the anger fade away as the sadness sets in, crimson red turning to ocean blue. “I just miss my friend. Talk to me.”

There’s a pause, a sigh, as Shane runs a hand down his face. 

“I know, I miss you too. I’ve just been busy.” Shane says but Ryan knows him too well, knows all the tells Shane has when he lies. But he also knows when not to push it. 

So, he lets it slide and decides to raise the metaphorical white flag and call a truce. 

“Movie night? Tonight? You can pick the film.” Ryan says, feeling the tension lifting off of him already. 

He still has no idea what’s going on or why they’ve suddenly grown apart, but at least now it doesn’t feel like an unspoken thing, an elephant in the room. At least now, it’s been acknowledged. 

“ _ Any _ film?” Shane says and there’s a mischievous glint in his eye that Ryan very much does  _ not _ like the look of. 

“Shane, no,” Ryan gasps, feigning terror as he can guess where this is going. 

“ _ You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life,”  _ Shane sings, throwing his arm around Ryan’s shoulder as they head to their next class. 

And for a moment, it feels like everything’s okay, like this was just a blip and everything will be alright. Ryan lets himself relish in the moment, hoping it’s not the calm before the fall out. 

* * *

It’s fall when Ryan’s girlfriend breaks up with him. 

“You really don’t see it, do you?” She says and all she gets in return is a confused expression. 

When she looks at him, there’s something in her eyes Ryan can’t quite name, something close to pity but it doesn’t make him feel patronised in the way pity does.

“I’m sorry, Ryan,” She hushes and Ryan’s surprised that she’s not angry. 

It still feels like he can’t quite figure out what’s going on and what caused this. In his eyes, he thought they’d been doing fine, he thought they’d been growing closer rather than further apart. 

Working out long distance, they lasted all through the summer, whilst she stayed with her family in Indiana and he was home in California. They’d text at least three times a week and call each other once a week to catch up, and Ryan thought that had been enough. 

But now, with the bandaid ripped off, with the wound exposed and the blood pouring on the floor between them, Ryan sees the distance. He sees all the signs he’d missed the first time, how she was never the person he thought to text first, how she’s not the person he knows better than anyone else, how she’s not the person his eyes are drawn to first when he enters a room.

Ryan remembers the all-consuming feeling last Christmas, the needy, giddy cocktail that bubbled beneath the surface, that he had tried to suppress. He remembers when all he wanted was to see Shane, when he wanted to text him so much his fingers itched beneath his skin, when all he could think about was how Shane would react to whatever was happening.

Now, looking back, he knows he didn’t feel this over summer. He knows he was doing just fine without her, that this long distance thing hadn’t seemed all that hard after all. He remembers thinking that everyone else had been exaggerating.

He feels caught off guard, blindsided.

“You don’t love me,” She says, explaining herself when the silence stretches on and Ryan looks as confused as ever. And when she says it, she doesn’t sound mad, she doesn’t even sound hurt. It sounds like she’s stating a fact, just saying something she’s known for some time. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to tell her she’s wrong, but she interrupts him before he has the chance. 

“No, it’s okay,” She says and Ryan can’t help but pick up on how strange it is that she’s the one comforting  _ him,  _ when she’s the one who should be hurting. 

With a sad smile, she takes his hand and squeezes it once, holding it in the space between them. It feels an awful lot like goodbye.

“It’s okay,” She repeats, like she’s comforting a confused child, like it’s all she can think to say right now. “I’ve known for a while.” She says, letting go of his hand and smiling at him kindly. “Talk to him.”

It takes Ryan a second to realise she’s talking about Shane. Again, it feels like he’s a step behind everyone else, just out of the loop.

“See you around, Ryan.” 

Somehow, it always comes back to Shane. 

Without another word, she walks away and it takes Ryan a moment to process what’s just happened. But for some reason, when she leaves him, it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. 

All he feels is frustration, almost furious that these feelings, the ones he was  _ certain _ that he was over, are cropping up again and ruining everything. That no matter what he does, they keep popping back up, leaving him alone with a love that’s destined to be unrequited.

* * *

Ryan doesn’t tell Shane that she broke up with him for a whole month, too scared that he’ll ask stupid questions like  _ what happened  _ and  _ why _ . He’s scared he won’t have prepared lies at the ready or worse, that he won’t be able to lie to Shane and the truth will come spilling out like some kind of poison and ruin everything it touches.

In fact, he doesn’t tell him at all. He finds out through her. And somehow, that’s worse.

“She broke up with you?” Shane asks one evening when he gets back from campus. Ryan’s watching some stupid show about superheroes, only half paying attention but the words make him lose all focus. “When?”

“About a month ago,” Ryan says, deciding that it’s probably best not to lie or try and change the subject. He knows Shane, that he’ll go along with the bit but circle back around to this when Ryan least expects it.

“Ry, I’m sorry, I should’ve noticed, I--” Shane says, cutting himself off before he starts to ramble. “Are you okay?”

“I, yes,” Ryan stammers, surprised that he means it and he really  _ is  _ okay, surprised that Shane’s not upset that Ryan didn’t tell him but rather, he’s upset that he wasn’t there for him. Even though Ryan never told him. How was he even supposed to know?

“Your turn to pick the film,” Shane says, as he plops down onto the sofa beside him, even though Ryan knows for sure that it’s not, that he picked the last movie they watched. 

Ryan feels his heart do a somersault at the gesture, feels the cage of butterflies hidden somewhere in his stomach open wide and hates that he finds comfort in the feeling returning, all too familiar and bittersweet.

It feels like they’ve arrived back where they were months ago, no girlfriends, no fighting, no awkward distance growing between them, as though nothing has happened at all. As though it’s always just been the two of them, sitting here on this sofa, watching random movies and eating enough popcorn to feed a family of ten.

But he takes the remote anyway and picks a film he’s heard Shane say he wants to watch.

  
  


_ When broken bodies are washed ashore _

_ Who am I to ask for more, more, more? _

They’re at some dumb college party a week before Thanksgiving to “celebrate the end of term”, which is nothing more than an excuse to get wasted in someone else’s house, a glorified excuse to get out of cleaning up the mess left behind. Of course, they go together - it just makes more sense since they’re both coming from the same apartment.

Shane’s wearing a goddamn  _ Hawaaiian shirt  _ like he’s a dad on vacation, desperate to embarrass his kids. But when Ryan glances down at his own outfit, he realises he’s no better. He’s wearing an old tee, grey and worn from one too many washes, hardly party attire and  _ definitely  _ not abiding by the neon party theme.

Some drunk girl comes up to them when they arrive, pouting.

“You’re not wearing neon,” She says, her words slurring together, before her eyes light up with an idea. She pulls a few little pots of UV paint out of her back pocket; green, pink, yellow and orange. Without warning, she starts painting it onto Shane’s face with her fingers.

“What, I,  _ okay _ ,” Shane stutters, laughing as his features pinch together in a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. 

“Stop scrunching, you’re gonna crease the paint!” The girl chastises and Ryan chuckles to himself as Shane smooths out his features. But the laughter dies on his lips when the girl turns towards him, threatening to paint his face in a similar way.

“I’m all good, thanks though,” He says and the girl pouts again, her blinks slower than the average person, the alcohol weighing on her eyelids.

“Here, let me,” Shane says, winking at the girl as he takes the paint from her and starts painting patterns on Ryan’s cheeks. He leans in for a better look, squinting his eyes in concentration. 

He’s so close Ryan can feel Shane’s breath on his lips. 

“There we go,” Shane whispers, his gaze meeting Ryan’s. There’s a glimmer of something Ryan can’t name in Shane’s eyes, he looks far too proud of himself. Even though he’s done with the paint, he makes no effort to step back, not that Ryan’s complaining.

“Shane, if there’s a dick on my face, I swear to god.” Ryan says but there’s no heat to it, the words coming out fonder than he’d hoped they would. 

Shane says nothing, just puts his hands up in mock surrender and turns around to hand the paint tubs back to the girl, who looks pleased now that they’re both fitting in with the theme.

“Couldn’t let you miss out on the fun, little guy,” Shane teases. “Now come on, we gotta find where they keep the drinks around here.” He says, patting Ryan on the back before throwing an arm around his shoulders.

* * *

They find the drinks easily, probably  _ too _ easily, since they’re both drunk before the clock hits two. It’s the kind of drunk that makes personal space a thing of the past, as they lean on one another, Ryan’s shoulder against Shane’s.

They’re sitting on the couch in the corner of the room, only half-watching as a circle of some of the students from their classes play a drinking game. Even now, months and months in, Shane can’t name all of them. But it doesn’t matter because whenever he shoots Ryan a confused glance, he whispers their name in Shane’s ear. 

If he’s being honest, Ryan finds it a little funny, but that’s probably just because of the alcohol.

At this point, Ryan doesn’t even remember what game they’re playing. He vaguely remembers someone explaining the rules, rushing through the details, excited to get to the game. 

He remembers everyone agreeing and crowding around at the mere mention of playing, but it felt a little like him and Shane were being pulled along, unsure of what they were supposed to be doing.

He remembers the first game ending and sneaking away as they set up the second one, one glance from Shane making him certain that they both felt as bored as he did. 

He remembers all but falling into Shane, like they were on a plane that had just gone through turbulence, a boat going over a particularly rough wave. He remembers feeling Shane’s hand on the small of his back. It must’ve been an attempt to keep Ryan upright, to keep him afloat when they fell onto the couch and Ryan expects Shane to pull away, but he doesn’t.

Now they’re both too stubborn to be the first to move, like they’re both playing an unspoken game of chicken and testing the boundaries, liquor making them both more ballsy than they would’ve been before.

When Ryan glances at Shane, it’s like he’s the only thing in focus, the only clear thing in a hazy room and he feels the tug in his chest, drawing Ryan towards him like Shane has his own gravitational pull. 

There’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be.

The thought leaves him high but the feeling lasts for only a moment, before he’s brought back to earth, coming down and crashing to reality. He’s alone in these feelings, he knows deep down in his gut that he is, and he hates himself for even considering otherwise.

But the way Shane looks at him, soft around the edges, the alcohol making his expression as readable as an open book for the first time. The way he laughs at every one of Ryan’s little observations, even when they’re not funny. The way he holds Ryan close, like he can’t quite bear to let him out of reach for more than a second.

It’s enough to have him fooled. 

It’s enough to have his guard coming tumbling down, as he pushes the doubts that this is all unrequited to the back of his brain, to be re-examined when he’s sober.

Acting on impulse, Ryan takes Shane’s hand and turns it over, palm facing up as he traces the lines there with his finger. He can feel Shane’s eyes on him, gaze burning into the side of his face as Shane plays catch up, trying to understand what’s going on.

The music sounds fainter now, like the speaker’s been tossed underwater, the thrumming beat of a kick drum sounding muffled like it’s coming from the room next door. Ryan can’t recognise the song that’s playing, but hears people singing along loudly and off-key.

He’s so focused on trying to figure out what song it is that he almost misses Shane intertwining their fingers, taking Ryan’s hand in his own in one swift move.

Now it’s Ryan’s turn to stare a hole into the side of Shane’s face, more confused than ever. But Shane’s already looking back at him, a soft smile gracing his features. 

Ryan wishes he could freeze this moment, take a picture of it and put it in a frame on his bedside table. He wants to memorise the way the dim glow of the fairy lights reflects in Shane’s eyes. He wants to memorise the route Shane’s thumb takes as he rubs gentle circles at the small of his back, to trace the patterns he leaves there. 

Ryan wants to live this moment forever, to stay in this space between where he allows hope to exist, where maybe Shane feels the same way he does.

He feels Shane’s breath on his lips again, the distance between them both somehow smaller than it was before without either of them making any effort to edge closer. He’s so close Ryan can feel Shane’s lips ghosting against his own, touching but not quite.

“Shane?” A voice cuts through and just like that, the moment’s gone. They both pull away like nothing ever happened. 

Like someone’s thrown a bucket of ice water over him, Ryan suddenly feels  _ very  _ sober, like the haze around them has been pulled away and he sees everything clearly again.

And all Ryan can think about is how cold his hand is now that Shane’s not holding it. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Shane says, his voice sounding raspy as he turns to the drunk girl standing beside them. She pushes her hair off of her shoulder, one of the curls latching onto her finger as she does so. Ryan recognises her as one of the girls from Shane’s group project, but he can’t recall her name.

“We’re playing beer pong and we need one more, you wanna join?” She says, looking at Shane through her eyelashes in a manner that’s anything but subtle. Oblivious as ever, Shane doesn’t answer, just glances across at Ryan, waiting for something, for Ryan to ask him to stay.

Ryan can feel the words in his throat, clawing their way to the surface, he almost says them. But he keeps his mouth shut.

He watches Shane pull back, watches him swallow hard, watches every wall knocked down build itself back up again. The conviction that was there before long gone, as his expression closes off.

“Sure,” He says to the girl, before untangling himself from Ryan and jumping up off the couch. 

Before he goes, he turns back to Ryan, a smile on his lips. To anyone else, it’d look normal but Ryan knows him too well, he sees through it to the uncertainty hiding underneath.

“See you later.” He says as he walks away,  blasé as he leaves Ryan to sit on the couch alone, as though they didn’t just almost overstep every metaphorical line they’d ever laid down. 

* * *

Ryan’s not sure how long passes, it could be a minute or an hour but after some time, he feels stupid sitting on the sofa alone. He feels like everyone can see right through him, that he’s so obviously waiting for Shane to come back, as though he’s some lost puppy who can’t exist alone.

_ Fuck that,  _ he thinks, as he gets up and starts to wander the party, looking for a familiar face that isn’t Shane. 

It’s not like Shane is his  _ only  _ friend, he’s made friends - if you could call them that - in his classes, but he spends most of his time with Shane so he’s not close with anyone in particular. He thinks of them more as acquaintances, people he knows by name but knows nothing about, not really. Not like how he knows Shane.

On his second trip around the party, Ryan finds Steven and Curly, chatting away over a bowl of Doritos. He grabs another drink, something stronger this time, and heads over, grateful for familiar faces amidst the crowd.

“Ryan!” Steven says with a wide grin, giddy from the alcohol. He pats the seat beside him and shuffles up the sofa, making room for Ryan to sit with them.

“What you guys up to?” Ryan asks, taking a long sip of his drink and hoping it’ll hit him sooner rather than later. 

“Just having a chip debate.” Steven explains, like that’s the most normal response in the world. “Quick, Doritos or Cheetos?”

“Do Cheetos even count as chips?” Ryan shoots back, the hint of a smile on his lips. Beside him, Curly makes a gesture at Ryan, like this is the argument he’s been having all along.

“You’re thinking too hard about it! Gut reaction, Doritos or Cheetos?” Steven says, ignoring Curly’s response.

“Doritos.” Ryan says, without a second’s hesitation. “But Cool Ranch, especially.” He adds, as Steven shakes his head, opening his mouth like he’s about to speak.

“I told you! Doritos are just better!” Curly exclaims, cutting off Steven’s attempts at arguing his corner. 

In drunken defeat and mock anger, Steven throws a single Dorito at Curly, who tries to catch it in his mouth but misses, the Dorito falling onto the apartment floor. None of them try to grab it, seeming to agree that the carpet is riddled with alcohol and vomit.

“But anyway, onto more pressing topics.” Curly says with a wave of his hand. He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Loverboy’s alone, what’s going on there?”

“What?” Ryan says and he almost chokes on his drink. For a second, he thinks Curly might be talking about Steven, until he notices both of their attentions are focused on Ryan’s answer.

“You,” Curly says, rolling his eyes. “You’re normally attached at the hip.” 

It feels a little like Ryan’s brain is a step behind, like he can’t quite understand what Curly’s saying, like all the puzzle pieces are in front of him but he can’t quite slot them into place, his brain still fuzzy and slow from the empty glass in his hand.

They’re just friends, nothing more. Sure, they’ve had the occasional  _ moment _ , but Ryan’s pretty sure it’s all in his head. He’s certain he’s the only one feeling this way, that this is just a problem he’s going to have to sort out by himself. 

“He’s my best friend,” Ryan says, like that would clear everything up. 

Instead, it just earns him two sympathetic looks.

“Oh,  _ honey _ .” Curly says and Ryan wonders if this is what everyone thinks, whether everyone looks at them like they’re two idiots afraid to confess. 

He wonders whether he would have ever put the pieces together if it wasn’t for the fact Curly was a talker when he’s drunk. God knows enough people have tried to tell him.

Without hesitation, his mind flashes back to the sofa, to the moment they shared and the uncharted territory they wandered into accidentally that left Ryan out of his depth and floundering. 

Before the mere possibility can bloom into something dangerous like hope, Ryan shuts it down, pushes it out of his brain again. It’s becoming a habit. He knows he can’t allow himself to entertain the possibility that this  _ thing,  _ whatever it is, isn’t as one-sided as he thought. 

He knows he can’t let himself hope because maybe then, he’d ruin things beyond repair.

“He looks like he needs another drink,” Curly says, grabbing the glass out of Ryan’s hands and disappearing to refill it, as Ryan’s left to retreat into his thoughts, spiralling downwards like a helter skelter.

_ But you’re breathing in my open mouth, _

_ You’re the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out _

  
  


They don’t talk about it. 

When Ryan wakes up the next morning, the apartment is alive with the quiet hum of Shane’s playlist, as he cooks breakfast at the stove. He’s far too chipper, whilst Ryan feels like a dead man walking.

Ryan ruffles his hair and yawns, edging into the kitchen slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal and he doesn’t know how it’ll react to his presence. This feels like uncharted territory. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, can’t even predict it. Will they just act like nothing happened? Will Shane want to talk it through? 

He doesn’t know which option would be worse.

“How you feeling?” Shane asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly as he reaches across and turns his music down, the vocals barely audible over the sizzling of the frying pan.

“Head. Hurts.” Ryan responds, as he rubs his temples with his fingertips. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those assholes who doesn’t get hangovers?”

“God no,” Shane says, as though such a thing is an accusation, as though Ryan has just accused him of being a vampire. “I’ve just been up for a few hours so it’s not as bad. You want some bacon?” He teases, holding a piece of bacon under Ryan’s nose with the kitchen tongs. 

It almost makes Ryan throw up.

“You’re a dick,” Ryan says, aiming for annoyed but sounding fond. Shane laughs and hands him a glass of water and it occurs to Ryan that this is all very normal, it feels like nothing has changed. It almost feels like last night didn’t happen.

Almost.

So, they don’t talk about it.

* * *

By the time Ryan’s packing some of his things up to go home for Thanksgiving, they still haven’t talked about it. 

It feels like things are okay between them, there’s no awkwardness and not for the first time, Ryan wonders whether Shane even remembers that night. Part of him hopes that’s the case, that he has an excuse to never bring it up, that he can file it away and pretend it never happened.

But part of him hates that he’s the only one plagued by this memory. He hates that he’s the only one left wondering  _ what if _ , kept up at night by all the possibilities and worst case scenarios. 

He hates that it’s opened a door for him that he can’t close.

He’d been doing so well, keeping all those feelings repressed and convincing himself that there was no possibility of something more. Ever since the coffee shop, since these  _ feelings _ were shoved to the forefront of his thoughts, he’s kept a lid on them. He’s been waiting patiently for them to disappear and for him to move on, deciding to never act on them.

And if they never disappeared, that’d just have to be something he dealt with. Alone.

But drunk Ryan? He had different plans.

And now, he can’t stop wondering.

“You’re not going home?” Ryan asks, when he’s pulling a suitcase into the living room and sees Shane sitting there on the sofa, no bags beside him. 

He remembers Shane going back to the Midwest last Thanksgiving, remembers the bag of leftovers he brought back with him. 

“Nah, you know how flight prices are,” He says, waving his hands like he’s gesturing at something, even though there’s nothing there. “Extortionate. I’m going home for Christmas anyway, so we figured.” He continues, trailing off at the end.

For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to Ryan that Shane would have to fly home. He’d taken for granted the fact that he could just drive for a few hours and be home, whereas Shane would have to fly to the other side of the states.

“Come with me.” Ryan says, before he even realises he’s thinking it, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Shane says.

“Come with me,” Ryan repeats and the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense, the more sure he is that this is a good idea. 

“What?” Shane says but this time, he heard him, loud and clear. He nearly chokes on his own breath, the sound somewhere between a chuckle and disbelief. 

For a second, he looks like he’s going to start laughing, until he looks at Ryan and sees that he’s not joking. It’s then that he takes a moment and it looks like he’s actually considering it.

“There’s always too much food anyway and my Mom wouldn’t mind,” Ryan says, leaving out that his mother has been pestering him for ages, asking if he’s happy at college, if he’s made any friends. 

“I wouldn’t wanna impose,” Shane says, those Midwestern manners kicking in, but all Ryan hears is the lack of a ‘no’.

“You wouldn’t be,” Ryan reassures. “In fact, my Mom would kill me if she knew I left you here alone at Thanksgiving.” It’s true. His mother  _ would _ be furious, she’s always been a believer of ‘the more, the merrier’. 

Besides, Ryan would probably be sent back with plates of leftovers for Shane anyway and there  _ is  _ always too much food, more than enough for an extra person, more than enough space at the table for an extra chair.

It all just makes sense.

“Okay,” Shane says, as though he’s caving and giving in, as though there’s not a smile tugging on his lips, a smile that Ryan returns. “I’ll go pack.”

* * *

Ryan was right. His mother was  _ thrilled _ to see Shane, pulling him into a hug like they’ve met a million times before. 

Of course, Ryan had dropped her a text as they were leaving to say Shane was coming with, explaining the situation, so she wasn’t completely surprised. 

And the drive there had been more bearable than he’d expected, the pair of them laughing and joking about Ryan’s terrible music taste and Shane’s terrible taste in films. (“ _ Really _ , Shane?  _ Cars _ is in your top five?”)

“You must be Shane, I’ve heard so much about you,” His mother says, holding onto his shoulders as they pull away, even though she has to reach upwards to do so. “You’re tall!” She says, chuckling and Shane smiles back. 

“It’s the leg to torso ratio,” Shane jokes as she pulls Ryan in for a hug. 

“You’re getting so skinny, are you sure you’re eating right?” His mother says, her eyes full of concern and warmth as she glances over Ryan, inspecting him. 

“Three meals a day,” Ryan says and decides to leave out that, to a college student, a bag of Doritos and a piece of bread count as a meal. 

He can feel Shane’s eyes on him again, as his mother tells him how much she missed him, as he says he missed her too. He can feel Shane watching him but when Ryan looks at him, he doesn’t look away. He just smiles.

There’s a beat.

“Come in,” His mother says, a smile on her lips as she steps aside to let them both inside, watching them lug their bags into the hallway. 

Ryan came home for the summer, but it still feels like years have passed instead of months. Maybe he should be used to this feeling by now, used to the bittersweet feeling in his chest as his heart somehow swells and drops simultaneously. 

He’s still so tuned into the little changes around the house, just like he was last Christmas but somehow, it hurts a little less now he’s not alone, now that Shane’s beside him. This time, Ryan doesn’t find himself dwelling on the moments he’s missing when he sees the old coffee table in the lounge has been swapped for a new one.

“So, this is where Bergoogoo grew up, huh?” Shane says, once Ryan’s mom has rushed off to find his brother. The sunlight floods in from the window, bathing the lounge in the mellow glow of the early afternoon sun, as it just starts to lower from its peak. “Explains why you lose it when the temperature drops one degree.” 

“Just because I don’t have  _ ice  _ in my veins,” Ryan shoots back, already knowing where this bit is heading. 

“My blood is frozen, baby! Just the way I like it!” Shane says in that playful tone of voice he adopts when in the midst of a bit and Ryan feels the smile on his face before he even realises it’s there. “Back home, they call me Shane Frozen-Blood Madej!”

“Shane Popsicle Madej!” Ryan adds, feeling almost giddy when Shane laughs. They’re at their best when they’re like this, shooting jokes back and forth like a rally at a tennis game. He opens his mouth, another joke at the ready, when his brother walks in.

“What’s going on in here?” He says, half-laughing, like they’re both insane and he’s just walked into the middle of something he doesn’t understand. 

Ryan’s never thought about it but he supposes, to anyone else, they  _ would  _ both look crazy. He’s always been so consumed and sucked into their own little bubble that he’s never noticed it before.

“I’m Jake,” His brother says to Shane with a little nod.

“Shane,” He says, returning the nod with all the grace of someone who’s never played sports passing back a football that accidentally landed at their feet.

“I know,” Jake says, a knowing smile on his lips like he knows a secret they don’t, like he’s heard  _ all about _ Shane, but it’s not unkind. “Mom said dinner’s ready.”

* * *

Ryan hadn’t realised how much he’d missed home-cooked meals until he was eating dinner, cleaning a full plate in record time. At college, they had tried to cook  _ some  _ meals, simple ones like spaghetti and meatballs with tomato sauce from a jar or ‘homemade’ pizzas using pre-packaged bases from the grocery store. 

But nothing had ever come close to his mother’s cooking.

Dinner passes by quickly enough with only one or two embarrassing moments. Ryan’s thankful when his mother suggests watching a film instead of pulling out the photo album to show pictures of baby Ryan that would make him want to crawl out of his skin and into an early grave.

And he thinks he’s got away with it too, until the next day, just after breakfast, when Shane points out a picture on the mantle of Ryan and his brother, barely old enough to tie their own shoelaces.

“Is that Ryan?” Shane asks, even though he already knows the answer. Ryan watches as his mother’s eyes light up, as though she’s been waiting for the opportunity to show Shane baby pictures, to embarrass Ryan as best she can.

“Yes! They were so close. Little troublemakers, though. We had our hands full.” She says, her voice sounding wistful as she chuckles.

Ryan wonders what memory is playing in her head. Is it the first time he and Jake played basketball together and Jake scraped all of the skin off of his knee? Is it the time she and his father had to carry them up to bed after a trip to Disneyland, both of them too groggy and half-sleep? Is it something Ryan’s brain was too young to fully remember, lost to the years but crystal clear in the memory of his mother?

There’s a dull ache in his chest as he realises that those days are over, that chapter is probably closed and done and he hadn’t known it until this moment. Until now, he hadn’t considered the weight of growing up, of moving on from all he’s ever known and trading it in for something completely new.

But then Ryan looks over at them, as his mom points to another picture on the mantle and talks Shane through an anecdote Ryan’s heard a thousand times, both his old and new life colliding right in front of him. Shane’s laughing along with her, glancing back at Ryan with a smile on his face and Ryan feels lighter than air, like his heart is about to explode in the best way possible.

* * *

They’re both falling asleep on the couch when Ryan decides it’s probably time to call it a night. His eyelids feel heavy and it’s a chore to move, the weight of a full and very exhausting day hitting him all at once.

“Come on,” Ryan says as he stands, trying to stifle a yawn. All he gets in response is a groan but then an arm reaches up from the sofa, a hand outstretched. He grabs it and pulls, helping Shane up.

“What time is it?” Shane asks. He presses pause on the remote but it’s not like they’d been watching the film anyway, they’d both started to drift off some time ago. 

“Almost twelve,” Ryan says as he checks the time on his phone. 

Immediately, he thinks it feels later than that, that this would be considered an early night back at college but a day full of social obligations and catching up has worn them both out. 

He can feel another yawn coming on already and his legs feel heavier with each step up the stairs. 

He doesn’t need to look back to see whether Shane’s following him, he hears the light thud of each footstep behind him.

“I’ll take the floor,” Shane offers as soon as they step over the borderline into Ryan’s old bedroom. Gently, Ryan closes the door, careful to muffle the noise so he doesn’t wake his family.

“No way, I’ll take the floor. Besides, your long ass limbs wouldn’t even fit.” Ryan insists, only half joking as he gestures to the small walkway between his bed and the wall. At best, it’d be a squeeze. 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Shane says it like the idea is incredulous, as though he hadn’t been suggesting he would do the same thing moments ago. There’s a pause and Ryan can see the gears turning in Shane’s brain, before he settles on a solution. “There’s enough space, come on.”

The bottom falls out of Ryan’s stomach.

_ Don’t make it weird. Don’t make it weird. Don’t make it weird. _

For the life of him, Ryan can’t think of what he’s supposed to say. It feels a little like he’s reaching out for them but the words are just out of his reach. He can almost feel his fingertips brush against them as they pass him by.

The silence stretches.

“Okay.” Ryan says with a nod, feigning confidence. 

He should’ve planned ahead. He should’ve thought about this. But he didn’t, so he turns to face the wall as Shane changes into his pyjamas and feels the heat rise up his neck, an all too familiar flush.

“Done,” Shane says and even though his voice is barely above a hush, the word seems to echo in the dead silence of the room, reverberating off the walls. 

Ryan turns around and gets changed, trying hard not to stare at Shane’s back. It’s almost too easy to crawl into bed, Ryan’s whole body exhausted and worn. He pulls the covers up to his chin like a child and is all but ready to fall asleep. But then Shane climbs in beside him and it very quickly becomes clear that there’s next to no room. 

_ Obviously not, _ Ryan thinks, knowing that it’s only a twin bed and they’re both more grown now than Ryan was when he first slept here.

All thoughts fly out of Ryan’s head, replaced only with the feeling of Shane’s body flush against his own. They’re far too close, so close that Ryan can see the lines on Shane’s lips, can pick out each individual eyelash.

“Hi,” Ryan says and is surprised when his voice comes out even.

“Hi,” Shane says with a smile. And then they’re both just laying there, silently smiling at each other like a pair of idiots.

Not for the first time, Ryan thinks he could open his mouth right now, speak a thousand confessions and make a million promises and change everything forever. 

In an instant, he could ruin this thing they have, this delicate space they’ve managed to wedge themselves into, somewhere between friends and more, much akin to a hidden, dark corner. He could shine a spotlight on it and bring everything out of the shadows.

He could taint this forever with just three words, like a drop of blood tainting a fresh glass of water. 

It’s a little scary how close he comes to doing it.

He can almost feel the words forming on his lips, the words he would never be able to take back, though he’s not sure he’d even want to. 

By now, he’s done this dance a thousand times and walked this road so often that the soles of his shoes have worn thin and it’s growing tiresome. Ryan wonders if he’ll ever say it. In this place, somewhere between asleep and awake, the possibility that he might never voice it somehow hurts more.

And all at once, he feels the nice moment turn sour in his mind. It’s too intimate, too close, too  _ much.  _

“I’m gonna--” Ryan says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder but he pauses, doesn’t move. 

Something in the air has changed and he wonders if this is how a police dog feels when picking up a scent, rushing to recognise it and figure out what’s going on.

Even though he knows this will only end in cars crashing, explosions and everything burning to the ground, Ryan can’t look away. 

And just like that, he’s back at the party again. Back to the intoxicating feeling of Shane’s eyes on him, looking at him under a different light. How there’d been no guise or excuse. How Shane had looked at him like a detective would look at a code they’re dying to crack. How Ryan had let him.

There’s a look in Shane’s eye that Ryan doesn’t recognise and for a second, Ryan thinks Shane’s going to say something, to close the space, to maybe kiss him, to do  _ something _ .

But instead, he pauses and then looks away, breaking eye contact as he says, “Okay.”

Ryan nods, shooting a small smile at Shane before he rolls over. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to fall asleep but he knows it’s too long, unable to ignore the feeling of Shane’s chest against his back.

* * *

When Ryan wakes, Shane’s still there, a comforting warmth pressed against his back. It’s a surprise, Shane’s always been an early worm, getting up hours earlier than Ryan. He’d expected an empty bed, Shane finding something to do downstairs so that he wasn’t there when Ryan woke up.

But he’s here. Ryan can feel his chest moving as he breathes, can feel Shane’s exhale falling onto the back of his neck, can feel Shane’s fingertips resting just short of his waistline. 

He feels his own breathing stutter.

“Ry?” Shane whispers and Ryan hadn’t even realised he was already awake. He’d thought his breathing was evened out in the way it only is when you’re asleep. 

And Ryan expects it to be awkward. He’s waiting for the fumbling to start, the excuses, the stuttering and stammering as they climb out of bed, but it never comes.

Instead, when he turns over to face Shane, he’s already looking back at him.

“How’d you sleep?” Ryan asks and just like that, everything is normal. They get up and small talk about the day ahead, about how it should be illegal for college professors to email during Thanksgiving break. 

And just like that, everything is normal. 

_ I wanna make you drive all night, _

_ Just because I said maybe you should come over _

They only stay for a few days, arriving the day before Thanksgiving and leaving on the Saturday after. And Ryan’s mother sends them away with four plates of leftovers and a promise that there’s always a space at the table for Shane if he ever wants to come back. 

Frankly, Ryan’s concerned that his mother might like Shane more than her own son.

The next month passes by without complication, both of them going home for the holidays again and texting the entire time they’re apart. Shane tells Ryan that his family got a dog and that his brother says hi. 

Sometime on Christmas Eve, Ryan catches Jake watching him as he texts Shane a picture of him pulling a funny face. He’s the younger brother but he has a wiser, knowing expression on his face, as if he’s in on a joke that Ryan doesn’t know the punchline to yet, like Ryan’s a glass window and he can see straight through him.

More than ever, things feel normal, like maybe the party is a distant memory, that maybe Ryan can forget whatever he had been feeling. 

“So, you and Shane?” Jake asks, one night while they’re waiting for some video game they’re playing to boot up. They’re the only two left awake, their parents turning in a few hours ago.

“Yeah?” Ryan says and when he glances at his brother out of the corner of his eye, Jake’s still staring at the screen, attention directed mostly at the game. He vaguely registers the credits flash across the screen as some ambient music plays in the background.

“What’s going on there?” Jake says but he asks the question like he already knows the answer.

“Nothing, we’re just friends.” Ryan replies, maybe a little too quickly. He tries really hard not to jump to the defence, reminding himself that it’s just a question, that Shane’s not here to hear his answers.

“Ryan, it’s okay if you’re not,” Jake says, a softer tone to his voice that Ryan’s never heard before. Growing up, they spent most of their time fighting over video game controllers and racing each other to the end of the street. 

Ryan wonders how much of his childhood was spent playing basketball with Jake, bickering over whether each move was a foul and letting him win.

He’s never thought of Jake as someone who could be there for him, as a friend. He’s only ever thought of him as that little kid brother who liked his plate with more ketchup than food. But now that they’re older, everything’s different.

“Mom and Dad wouldn’t care, you know that, right?” Jake continues and Ryan realises that he hadn’t even thought of that. 

Before now, Ryan hadn’t even considered what this meant, what his feelings for Shane would mean about his sexuality, that he’d have to come out to his family and their reaction. He doesn’t even know what he would label himself as. Now that he thinks about it, he probably could see himself with a girl or a guy, he’s not really sure.

All he knows is that when he’d met Shane, gender hadn’t mattered. All he’d cared about was Shane. 

So, maybe gender isn’t a factor for him. The realisation doesn’t shake the ground beneath him like he thought it would. 

_ College,  _ he thinks. They always say you find yourself there, but he hadn’t been expecting to.

“I know,” Ryan says and only after he says it does he realise he sort of, maybe, kind of just came out to his brother. 

The game’s title fades onto the screen, the strings in the background swelling into a crescendo before fading away completely.

“So, are you guys together?” Jake asks, the softer tone abandoned now and traded in for a teasing one, typical of a little brother. 

“Not exactly,” Ryan says, chuckling a little even though it’s not funny.

“You haven’t told him? Dude.” Jake says and Ryan knows that Curly and Steven had been right, that his feelings were painfully obvious to everyone but Shane. 

There’s a part of him that isn’t surprised, a part of him that shrugs it off with a laugh. But another part of him wants the ground to swallow him whole, embarrassed that everyone can see how unrequited his feelings are. 

Ryan’s not sure what to say, but he’s saved from having to say anything at all as the first cut screen starts playing.

* * *

Sometime on the drive back to college, Ryan decides he’s going to tell him.

He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know when. But he can feel it bubbling up inside of him, like he’s a shaken soda bottle, a ticking time bomb with an expiry date. He knows, one day, the words will come spilling out before he has the chance to stop them.

They’ve been coming for some time now, he knows they have.

This stupid, little crush is relentless and unforgiving with no sign of letting him go. Ryan’s powerless as its hands stay closed around his neck, the way they have been for years now. 

But sometimes, if he blasts his music loud enough, the feeling dulls, like an abandoned thought cased away in a drawer in the very back of his mind. He had always thought he felt the brunt of it in the silence, but that’s nothing compared to how he feels around Shane.

This has gone on long enough. Not for the first time, Ryan counts himself lucky that Shane didn’t find out earlier or worse - that he found out from someone else. Thankfully, sober Curly isn’t quite as loose-lipped and willing to spill people’s secrets as drunk Curly. But this has gone on long enough.

So, Ryan has to say something. 

But as the drive goes on, his resolve crumbles, his determination fading. It somehow seems like less of an issue now that he’s spent time alone, now that his brain has convinced him so. 

He parks the car and locks it behind him, feet treading a path so familiar that he’s certain he could walk it with his eyes closed. It’s strange how nothing really changes on campus in the time he spends away, how the bricks don’t seem to fade in colour from the sunlight, how each person he passes seems familiar but not at the same time, how the grass seems the exact shade of green it was when he last saw it.

“Ryan,” Shane says, when he walks into the apartment. He has a kitchen towel in his hands, wafting it close to the window with a panicked look on his face. “I’m ordering takeout, what do you want?”

“What did you do?” Ryan asks through laughter, as he throws his bags down at the door and rushes to help Shane guide a small cloud of smoke out of the window.

“I definitely didn’t put pasta in the oven and then forget about it.” Shane says, a little sheepish. He breathes a sigh of relief, the majority of the smoke gone and not setting off the smoke alarm, which would kick the entire building out onto the pavement.

“ _ Shane, _ ” Ryan chastises, as though he’s any better of a cook. He looks across at Shane, hair a mess as he flings the kitchen towel over his shoulder, laughing at Ryan’s reaction. 

_ Soon,  _ he thinks. He couldn’t bring himself to ruin this moment by talking about his feelings.

“I’m thinking Chinese food?”

_ I wanna make you fall in love as hard as my poor parent’s teenage daughter, _

_ She’ll be the best you ever had if you let her _

  
  


The rational part of him knows he’s got no right to be jealous, he  _ knows _ that. Shane was never his to lose, they were always just friends, nothing more. That much was obvious.

But it still feels like Ryan’s heart has been ripped out of his chest, like it’s laying on the ground in front of him, separated from his body and leaving behind an empty void in his chest.

It’s another stupid college party, another stupid song blaring through the speakers, another stupid crowd of people that he only half recognises.

And across the room, she stands before him, talking passionately about something, some band that they both loved or some movie they both hated, Ryan’s not quite close enough to hear. But he’s close enough to see that Shane’s just as enthralled by the conversation as she is, gesturing wildly with his hands as he speaks.

Ryan recognises her from the party before Thanksgiving but this time, her hair’s different, it’s shorter and darker, brown-blonde dyed black. She’s got a nose piercing and eyeliner so sharp it looks like it could cut Ryan to his core. 

He can’t compete with that. But then, he realises, he was never in the competition to begin with, he was never a player, he was never even benched. He was always just a spectator, always observing from the sidelines, never acting on anything, never getting involved. 

He could never compete with that because he was never even an option.

Ryan’s so sick of college parties. So sick of college. So sick of these feelings. So sick of  _ feeling at all.  _ So sick of loving Shane.

Wait.

The realisation washes over him, that these feelings are deeper than he first thought and oh,  _ of course _ , they are. How hadn’t he seen it before? 

He glances around the room, searching, until his eyes land on Steven. Without a second thought, he’s racing across the room, muttering apologies as he bumps into people, nearly sending their drinks flying.

The drink in his own hand is only half-empty and even so, he doesn’t feel drunk in the slightest. Ryan feels stone cold sober and that, somehow, makes it worse. 

He takes a long sip.

“You okay?” Steven asks, seeming amused more than anything else. But the expression on Ryan’s face must be ghastly because the amusement suddenly turns to concern. 

Ryan glances over his shoulder like he’s paranoid or scared he’s being followed, just to check that Shane’s still where he left him - out of ear shot.

“I love him,” Ryan says, the words sounding like they’ve been punched out of him, leaving him hollow inside. After all this time, he expects the words to feel foreign on his tongue, to feel strange to his ears, to take some getting used to. But it’s no revelation. It’s almost too easy to admit.

“Dude, I know,” Steven says, shaking his head. The next time he speaks, his tone is more soft. Ryan feels two hands on his shoulders, as Steven turns him around. Without hesitation, he places his palms between Ryan’s shoulder blades and shoves, no more than a gentle nudge of encouragement. “You’re telling the wrong person.”

Before he can think better of it, Ryan’s stalking across the room, ignoring the confused glances being shot his way. He’s focused, only vaguely registering when the song changes to  _ Mr. Brightside  _ and the whole party erupts with excitement.

When Ryan finds him, Shane’s still talking to that girl and Ryan’s being rude, but he can’t find it in himself to care, as he taps Shane on the shoulder.

“Ryan,” Shane says, a familiar sound that somehow still manages to lodge itself under Ryan’s skin and raise chills. He turns to Ryan, train of conversation derailing, as he smiles and tilts his head in question. It’s only then that Ryan realises he’s taking far too long to respond.

“Can we talk?” Ryan asks, only aware of how cryptic he’s being once he’s said it. Shane squints, confused, before turning to the girl beside him with a polite smile.

“Sorry,” He says.

“No worries,” She says, lighthearted, shrugging it off. And Ryan can’t  _ not _ like her, with her kind eyes and warm smile. 

He loops his fingers around Shane’s wrist and tugs, leading him through the party. Frustratingly, each room Ryan glances into is full, too loud for such a conversation. After the fourth room, he begins to wonder how many people are crammed into this apartment, whether the floor is strong enough to hold this many bodies.

“Ryan, what’s going on?” Shane asks, as Ryan finally finds a room that’s unoccupied and pulls Shane in behind him. As he closes the door, the noise of the party muffles, the lyrics vanishing and the bass rattling the door frame. 

“I need to tell you something important and I need you to promise you won’t hate me when I do,” Ryan says, turning back to face Shane. He takes a deep breath and tries to prepare himself. He’s thought of this scenario so many times, of what he’d say, what he’d do. But now that he’s facing it, staring down the barrel of the gun, all his thoughts fly out of his brain. 

“What? Ryan, you’re freaking me out.” Shane says, eyes glancing over Ryan’s face and searching for a clue, a reason why Ryan’s so on edge. “Are you drunk already?” He asks, even though they’ve only been there for an hour or so.

“Shane, promise,” Ryan pleads and something in his tone causes Shane to cave. 

“I promise, I could never hate you, Ry.” Shane says, the sentence latching onto an exhale and coming out breathy. But the sincerity of it sends a dagger through Ryan’s heart, as he contemplates backing down. It’s then that Ryan remembers the risk he’s taking and the possibility that their friendship could change forever. For better or worse.

“Okay,” Ryan sighs. Runs his fingers through his hair, hands shaking. Takes a step towards Shane and looks him dead in the eye, because he’s never been one to back down from a fight. “I love you. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought it was some stupid crush and I didn’t want to ruin  _ this _ , but it’s not. I love you. More than a best friend should.”

There’s a silence, a pause that stretches and Ryan feels his stomach drop to the floor.

He has the inkling that he never should’ve said anything, that it would be better if he’d kept his mouth shut, as Shane stares at him with a stunned expression on his face. 

“I know you don’t feel the same but I--”

He’s cut off by Shane’s lips against his own, as Shane’s hands rest on the sides of Ryan’s face, gently pulling him closer. And Ryan obliges, kissing back as soon as his brain reboots and catches up to speed. He winds his fingers up into Shane’s hair, carding through it and realising it’s just as soft as it looks.

Before either of them realise what’s happening, the kiss shifts, deepens. It’s more urgent, hands racing over one another, tracing imaginary lines and grasping at anything they can reach, needing to be closer. 

Shane steps forward, backing Ryan up against the bedroom door. Somehow, it feels like he’s even taller than he was before, elbows leaning beside Ryan’s face, caging him in on either side. Ryan slips a thigh between Shane’s legs, pushing his luck. The friction earns a gasp from Shane, which is closer to an exchange of breath with how close they are.

Ryan’s hand rests on Shane’s cheek and he realises how much rougher it is than his ex-girlfriend’s. Kissing her was nice and enjoyable and pleasant, but kissing Shane is like diving headfirst into a pool after living in the desert, spending years without water. 

Kissing Shane is like pulling himself apart, piece by piece and watching Shane put him back together again. Kissing Shane is standing on a precipice with a blindfold on, taking the leap without checking for a safety net. 

Ryan thinks he’s ruined for anyone else now, that kissing anyone else would never live up to it, that he never even wants to kiss anyone else. That he’d be more than happy to kiss Shane for the rest of his life. But that’s a box he leaves unopened, pushing it to the back of his mind to reinspect in a few years time.

“Who said I didn’t feel the same?” Shane says, as they pull apart to catch their breath. But he doesn’t go far, leaning back only far enough to look Ryan in the eyes. “I love you, too. By the way.” He says, casually with a smile on his lips, like it’s something he’s known for a long time. 

There’s a beat, as they just stare at one another. Ryan thinks he could name every shade of colour in Shane’s eyes, that he could draw him from memory by now.

“I can’t believe you love me, you’ve got such good taste,” Shane teases, that joking tone that Ryan’s come to know seeping into his words again. Ryan rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat to it.

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. 

He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Shane’s mouth, an effective silencer. It’s meant to be a single kiss, a quick gesture, but Shane chases his lips as he pulls away, catching him in another kiss. And another. And another. Until they both lose count.

“ _ Shane _ ,” Ryan breathes, as Shane kisses a line down from Ryan’s jaw to the crook of his neck. Ryan’s hips lift off the door, pressing forward into Shane until their bodies are flush against one another. “Let’s go home?” He says, a statement but it comes out sounding more like a question, unsure, like Ryan’s still giving him an out.

“Yes, home, good idea,” Shane rambles, thoughts scattered as he pulls away from Ryan and grabs his hand. He looks at Ryan and smiles, before they rush out into the party, hurrying to the exit.

Ryan thinks, maybe, things will all work out for the better after all.

_ I know it’s for the better.... _

  
  



End file.
